


Caught with more than my hands up

by Naphorism



Series: Wayne, Bruce Wayne [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - James Bond Fusion, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Awkward Flirting, Bisexual John Doe, Bruce Wayne Has Feelings, Bruce Wayne is Not Batman, Crimes & Criminals, Espionage, Falling In Love, Flirting, Government Agencies, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Inspired by James Bond, John Doe is a Mess (Telltale), Kissing, Laughter, Laughter During Sex, M/M, Mentioned Harleen Quinzel, Minor Joker (DCU)/Harleen Quinzel, Organized Crime, Playboy Bruce Wayne, Spies & Secret Agents, Tuxedos, it's a James Bond fusion, that tag fits here and it's an uh oh for bruce, we all know how dubcon telltale harley/john gets, who would I be if I didn't put bruce in a tux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24171331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naphorism/pseuds/Naphorism
Summary: "I know who you're working for. Quinzel sent you after me,” Bruce whispers, tightening his vicelike grip on Doe’s hips and taking a half step forward. “I’ve known almost since we first met.”
Relationships: John Doe/Bruce Wayne, John Doe/Harleen Quinzel, Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Series: Wayne, Bruce Wayne [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1744576
Comments: 6
Kudos: 46





	Caught with more than my hands up

**Author's Note:**

> "BRUH I WANTED THIS TO BE A JAMES BOND CROSSOVER TELLS YA SOMETHIN’ ABOUT JAMES BOND THAT IT RAPIDLY ALMOST BECAME PORN" -me typing my future author's note @ 2am after writing the first 10 paragraphs  
> Something at the back of my mind wouldn't stop hissing at me until I illustrated to the entire world that the Bruce/John dynamic would work the same as James Bond/Bond girl in a spy au. The whole falling for someone who's fighting for the wrong side thing is very James Bond.  
> Title is a modified quote from Diamonds Are Forever.

Bruce gets the man who calls himself Doe backed up against the ridiculously large armoire in the bedroom of his penthouse suite before he drops the bomb. He allows his lips to just barely brush against Doe’s before leaning to the side and murmuring, “I know who you’re working for,” directly into his ear. He lets his lips graze the shell of Doe’s ear, if only to watch him squirm a bit harder.

Carefully lined eyes widening, Doe’s breath hitches drastically. Bruce flatters himself in thinking that it is only partially caused by fear. He is not wrong. “D-do you really?” Doe tries to make his question sound flirtatious, but he is a truly atrocious liar. His throat works around a nervous swallow.

As happy as Bruce would be to watch Doe’s Adam’s apple bob all night long, his capability to concentrate is a matter of national security at the moment. He hums his affirmation against the pale skin of Doe’s neck left exposed by the high collar of his purple satin shirt, and Doe reacts with a visible shiver. “Quinzel sent you after me,” Bruce whispers, tightening his vicelike grip on Doe’s hips and taking a half step forward. “I’ve known almost since we first met.”

Pressing his spine against the armoire, seemingly trying to become a part of it, Doe tries to put distance between himself and Bruce. Try as he might, he fails. He cannot move back any further. Bruce has him cornered.

“I know you’re Doctor Quinzel’s personal assistant,” Bruce breathes, sliding one hand up to feel where the rough wool of Doe’s high waisted pants meets the silky material of his shirt. “In more than one way.” He uses a suggestive tone of voice that lets Doe know that Bruce is aware of what _personal assistant_ sometimes entails when it comes to Doctor Harleen Quinzel. “You hear things in your line of work, and you’re far less naïve about the Pact’s operations than you lead everyone to believe. Possibly more than Doctor Quinzel herself realises.” Bruce looks Doe dead in the eyes as he speaks; dares him to look away.

Doe looks away. He giggles nervously, hands twitching compulsively against Bruce’s broad shoulders. Bruce suspects that this is a sign of an aborted attempt to push him away.

“Look at me,” Bruce growls, grabbing Doe by the chin and forcing his face up.

“I know who _you’re_ working for, too,” Doe mutters shakily, blowing an errant strand of green hair out of his eyes with a deliberate exhale. “No need to get cocky, buddy.”

Bruce cocks one eyebrow at Doe.

“Government agents are all the same. Except,” Doe pauses, leans up to Bruce’s ear, and whispers, “not you. Wayne, licensed to kill. Body count of absolutely _nada._ ” He giggles awkwardly then pulls back and smirks up at Bruce, painted lips pulling into the unsettling yet oddly charming smile that demonstrates time and time again exactly why he is the person the Pact chose to send after Bruce.

No one can avoid being predictable all of the time, Bruce decides, swooping down and kissing Doe deeply, devouring whatever noise of surprise Doe makes when he does. He tastes like cigarette smoke, waxy lipstick, and the obscenely sweet cosmopolitan Bruce bought him at the hotel’s bar. Bruce makes short work of the three tiny green buttons holding Doe’s collar closed, undoing them with practiced flicks of his wrist.

Whatever nervousness Doe may have had is thrown out the window in his haste as he responds passionately to Bruce’s kiss. He slides a hand under the undone jacket of Bruce’s immaculately tailored tuxedo and gropes around with slender fingers until he has enough purchase to pull Bruce’s black shirt out of his slacks, clamouring to touch bare skin. His other hand clings desperately to one of Bruce’s suspenders, holding him close.

“This,” Bruce gets out between feverish kisses, “doesn’t mean I trust you, Doe.” He undoes a fourth button on Doe’s shirt.

“Of course,” Doe whispers, squirming around until Bruce takes the hint and drops his arms so that Doe can push the jacket off of his shoulders. Bruce lets it fall to the ground. “Of course not, Mister Wayne.” He playfully snaps one of Bruce’s suspenders against his shoulder then laughs gently, closing his eyes and very deliberately leaning up to bump his nose against Bruce’s.

“Doe,” Bruce says, a warning in his tone. All of a sudden, everything feels too familiar for his tastes. Instead of dwelling on the apparent sweetness of Doe’s behaviour, Bruce busies himself with shoving his own suspenders off his shoulders, kicking off his shoes, and grabbing Doe’s slim hips once again.

Doe trips over his own obnoxiously green dress shoes as he allows himself to be spun around and slowly pushed towards the bed, toeing the offending shoes off then kicking them into a far corner of the room clumsily as they go. “Call me John,” he pants as his back hits the king-sized mattress. After a moment of silence and Bruce’s lips on his neck, he bites out a breathless, “ _Please_ call me John, Mister Wayne.”

Something in Bruce’s chest seizes up. He tries to remind himself not to make the mistake of getting attached to someone who is fighting for the wrong side. Again. Despite this, he still murmurs, “John. Call me Bruce,” against the bare skin of John’s collarbones, exposed by his undone buttons. He thinks undoing more of them sounds like an excellent plan.

John sighs, then, in a surprising display of strength, flips them over. Bruce gazes up at him, feeling as though he is losing his mind. John is part of an organisation that wants to destroy all that Bruce fights for, just to revel in the chaos. Yet here he is, sitting on Bruce’s lap as though on a throne he was born to, usually carefully-styled green hair falling across his forehead, lurid purple shirt hanging off one pale shoulder, wide mouth stretched into slash of smudged red. His spindly fingers look white splayed against the black fabric covering Bruce’s chest. The effect is skeletal, but Bruce can feel the warmth of John’s fingers seeping through his shirt.

Leaning down, John breathes, “You look good with my lipstick, Brucie,” directly into Bruce’s ear. He draws back to smile down at Bruce.

Bruce shudders and pulls John in by the back of his neck, bringing their mouths together urgently. He is definitely losing his mind a little.

**Author's Note:**

> Will I ever write batjokes that isn't a crossover? Probably, but it's weird that I haven't yet.  
> Initially part 2 was part of the same fic, but it has a very different tone and both parts have a definitive beginning/end, so I split them up. Plus this way I can write more spy au whenever I want and add it to the series.  
> Kudos and comments (and hits on part 2!) are immensely appreciated.


End file.
